


A Snow Maiden's Kiss

by WildBubblesRoam



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Extended Version, F/M, Snowcastle scene, kiss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-26 00:52:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1668698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildBubblesRoam/pseuds/WildBubblesRoam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What were to happen between Lord Baelish and Sansa Stark if neither of them ended the kiss where they did? What if Aunt Lysa hadn't seen their exchange? And what if, they both wanted it just as badly as the other? [This is pretty much just a fun little bit of fluff, with smut to follow later on. For now though, it's only worth a T-rating. I'll bump it up once it's worth more.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: This is the first chapter to what may be a short 2-3 chapter Petyr x Sansa fanfic. As you can tell from the first half of this chapter, it takes place directly after/during the Snow Castle scene, based on the Television Show version of it more so than the book version. Enjoy :)

  
  
    The hair on her arms were standing on end, if not because of the cold surrounding her, then more importantly because of the chills his voice made her feel. Her snow castle was in ruins, much like the real Winterfell she had based it so strongly on, and her palm still stung slightly beneath her thin black gloves from when she had slapped the Lord of the Vale only moments ago. She rubbed at it idly as she watched him step carefully down each snow-covered step in the courtyard.  
  
    “I hit him,” Sansa confessed, pulling her eyes away from the figure moving steadily towards her.  
  
    “Yes, I saw.” Lord Baelish replied smoothly with a small nod and a gentle shrug of his arms.  
  
    “I shouldn’t have done that.” She added regrettably.  
  
    “No,” Lord Baelish quickly agreed before correcting her. “His mother should have, a long time ago.” He was approaching her, the tightly packed snow crunching stiffly beneath each footstep. “Consider it a step in the right direction.”  
  
    The slight smile on his face did little to calm her worries, though it did help. She began to voice her concerns. “If he tells Aunt Lysa--,”  
  
    “Let _me_ worry about Aunt Lysa.” Littlefinger had finally reached her and came to a pause as he fussed with his sleeve, never taking his eyes off of her as he spoke.  
  
    Sansa’s eyes dropped down to the crumbled remains of her northern-inspired snow castle. “I was trying to remember what everything looked like.” Even as she said it, she could feel her voice lower down to a defeated tone. It had been years since she last saw it, her family’s home, her own bedroom, and even the snowy grounds surrounding it much like the courtyard surrounding them now. She continued rubbing her hand and stated bitterly, “I’ll never see it again.”  
  
    With a raise of an eyebrow, Littlefinger offered optimistically, “A lot can happen between now and never.” Sansa watched as he began to move again, this time rounding carefully around the pile of kicked-about snow and ending up even closer to her than before. “If you want to build a better home, first you must demolish the old one.” He came to a halt beside her, his eyes locked in place on her face as she turned to face him.  
  
    Her mind had passed beyond snow castles and before she could think of why she was asking it or where her sudden bravery and boldness had come from, she asked, “Why did you really kill Joffery?” Her question must have caught him off guard, as Littlefinger’s face froze, softening slightly as he could only stare back at her silently. “Tell me why,” she insisted, her expression serious though she couldn’t tell whether or not it would be enough to get an answer from him.  
  
    He stilled for another moment longer before caving. “I loved your mother more than you could ever know.” Lord Baelish replied with a small shake of his head. “Given the opportunity, what do we do to those who’ve hurt the ones we love?”  
  
    Sansa’s thoughts came to Joffery, to his mother and his grandfather-- all the Lannisters who had put her family through so much before finally wiping them out to near extinction. Lord Baelish’s reasoning made sense and as she thought of it, her cheeks lifted just a hair as her lips curved into a sweet smile.  
  
    Lord Baelish smiled back, a half-smile, a true smile, unlike the over-enthusiastic grins she had seen him display so often when they were in Kings Landing. As she looked at him now and saw the smile creep just barely up through his eyes, Sansa felt as though she could finally really see him beneath the trained expressions and false demeanors he had been known to hide behind.  
  
     “In a better world,” he explained, moving towards her again as his words reached her wholly. “One where love could overcome strength and duty,” She could feel the heat of his body so close to her. His breath, warm in the chilly, snow-sprinkled air, smelt of sweet fresh mints and gave her goose bumps. “You might have been my child.” He was inches away from her and yet he couldn’t look away, not even for a moment and Sansa couldn’t help but do the same as she watched him with intrigue. “But we don’t live in that world,” Lord Baelish finished, his eyes finally casting down as they trailed over the long length of her beautiful Tully red hair.  
  
    He couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and touch it, fondling the soft locks between his fingertips and remembering only one other woman. His brows creased and his eyes closed almost painfully as he shook his head gently, just barely fighting with himself to keep the words he was about to say back. It was an admission more than anything else. His eyes felt heavy as they lifted back up to meet Sansa’s. “You’re more beautiful than she ever was.”  
  
    Sansa’s stare broke away, searching the backdrop around them for what she was supposed to say. It was her mother he was talking about, surely, but as his close proximity felt suddenly closer and as his fingers remained gently on the ends of her fiery hair, Sansa finally spoke. “Lord Baelish…”  
  
    His hands dropped away from her hair and lifted up to cup the sides of her face. Something in him had changed, as if a spark had been lit behind those green-grey eyes. “Call me Petyr,” he offered just above a low, raspy whisper and leaned in to capture her with a kiss.  
  
    It was gentle and warm, the only chill creeping in between them was that of the mints on his breath and the snow beneath their feet. His hands felt soft against the tenderness of her face though his lips felt even soften. She felt her heart begin to beat against the cage of her chest and the goose bumps on her arms had multiplied by the hundreds, but she didn’t care. Her eyes closed, as did his, and as he held her against him, she felt her body pull towards him in return.  
  
    Her hands went to the coarse patterned fabric of his winter tunic. She meant to place them on his chest and push him away, to break apart their encounter like any refined, dutiful lady should, if not for her husband back in Kings Landing, then at least for her own reputation. But as her hands felt the solidity of his chest beneath the thick layers separating their bodies, she couldn’t make the final move to push him away.  
  
    Perhaps it was his skilled lips or the feel of his hands so gently against her face, a lock of her ginger hair hung loosely between his pinky and ring fingers, but as the seconds ticked on and she lost track of time entirely, she could feel a tiny flutter begin in her chest and travel down to her stomach. She thought it would end there, ceasing to invade her any further or at least settle like a flock of wild butterflies in her tummy, but the feeling continued to shift and lower itself until it found the spot it had been looking for. Petyr’s hands found their way to her jawline and with the gentlest of strokes, the fingers of his right hand coaxed her to allow him entry past her tender lips.  
  
    She felt the soft sigh of a moan escape her as he stepped closer, his body brushing against hers so deliciously that it made her want to keep him there with her forever. Her lips parted and as if it had been exactly what he was waiting for, Petyr deepened the kiss. It was a feeling she had never felt before, not like any other embrace she had shared in her life and she didn’t want it to end. His mouth pressed harder against hers as a fire engulfed them both in a sudden heat of passion. Sansa’s hands slipped up to his neck and found the mockingbird pendant hanging neatly at the collar of his clothes. She wanted to pull it away, unfasten the binds of his shirt beneath and explore all that remained of him.  
  
    Despite the cold nipping at her as they stood in the snowy courtyard, she felt heated, not just on her face or in her chest, but further down. Beneath her own clothes, she felt a desire building up inside her, threatening to claw its way loose. His right hand broke free from her neck and moved down to the curve of her hips. It was enough to make her explode, to feel his fingertips gripping at her and knowing that he felt just as strongly as she did in that moment.  
  
    Petyr took another step forward, needing to get closer to her, but as he moved forward, Sansa wasn’t expecting it and fell back. Their kiss broke suddenly and as he saw her going down, he grabbed for her hands, but it was too late. She was already nearly on her behind and as she reached for his hand to save her, she pulled him down right on top of her instead. He pushed himself up onto his knees, straddling one of her thighs with his hands still holding hers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen. Are you hurt?” Petyr asked, his eyes fixed on hers as they sat atop the squashed pile of snow formerly known as Winterfell.  
  
    Sansa laughed and replied, “I’m fine. It was only an accident.” Her smile brightened her big blue eyes and as he looked down at her, she knew he wanted to kiss her again. “Unless you did it on purpose to fall on top of me,” she teased and she could tell by his reaction that he didn’t expect such a suggestion to come out of such a refined young lady’s mouth.  
  
    He shifted his weight from his knees to the balls of his feet and gave her one more look-over. She was perfect. Her porcelain skin countered the paleness of the snow beautifully and as his eyes left hers to trail back down to her lips, he noticed that they appeared to be redder than before, more full from the stimulation of their kiss. It suited her, as did the suddenly rosier shade to her cheeks. ‘She should be kissed more often,’ he mused quietly. He must have been silent for too long, lost in her eyes and the sinful thoughts that had suddenly overtaken him. She was staring at him, as if waiting for him to respond. He licked his lips where the cold had begun to bite at them and smiled. “It seems I’ve gotten you wet, sweetling.”  
  
    Sansa was shocked. For him to speak to her so boldly, with such a rawness, it was unheard of in her world. She was a Princess, the heir to Winterfell, and a married woman on top of it all. Her lips quivered as she tried to push back the smile that threatened to show just how much she enjoyed his bluntness. “You’ve, what?” She asked innocently. Perhaps she had heard him wrong in her excitement.  
  
    “Wet,” he repeated, his voice lower and almost accidentally seductive in nature. He wondered just how enticed he had made her, how far she would let him go just to scratch that itch that he knew must have been building up between those long, fair legs of hers. A part of him wanted to take her just as she was, right there in the courtyard, snow and all. But who knows how far away poor little Robin had gone to sulk after she struck him. There was too much potential for disaster if they stayed out there in the cold. He swallowed hard and glanced down at her cloak and gown, as if it were them he had been talking about all along. “Your clothes. They’re damp from the snow.”  
  
    With an almost disappointing realization, Sansa followed the line of his sight down to her clothing. She shifted her weight to one side and pulled the excess fabric from the back of her long gown over to her front, spotting a moist round patch where she had been sitting. “Oh, I hadn’t even noticed.” She replied shyly, embarrassed at just how wrong her misunderstanding had been.  
  
    Petyr stood and brushed off the bits of snow that clung to his clothes. He should have stopped himself there, curbed his interest and left it at just a single kiss, never to be spoken of again. But as he looked down at her and extended a hand to help her up, he knew he wouldn’t be able to push himself away from such a beauty, especially when she wasn’t eager to push away either. With a regained confidence, Petyr smiled his little half-smile and brushed a snowflake off of her long Tully red hair. “Let’s get you somewhere warm, and out of those damp clothes.”  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: Thank you for all the lovely reviews and comments so far! You have no idea how happy those little things make me! I really appreciate it.
> 
> I'm still relatively new to AO3 and am not as familiar with the rating system as I probably should be. At first, I was going to switch this over to just an M-rating, but just in case I'm under-rating this, I've set it at Explicit. Better safe than sorry I suppose!
> 
> If you hadn't already guessed or noticed the rating change, this is where it gets bumped up to Mature/Explicit. Anyone who's read any of my other works knows that I'm not too keen on teasing and brief little snippets of smut, so take this as a warning: Smut in this chapter! If you're uncomfortable with sexual content or seeing this pairing in an intimate manner, I'd advise you not to read anymore of this story.
> 
> Enjoy :)

  
  
    He kept a private room separate from his conjoining one with Lady Lysa, even after their marriage. The Eyrie wasn’t at all in short supply of empty rooms, what with how isolated and barren it always seemed to be. When questioned by his wife about his need for personal chambers, Petyr had brushed off her concerns easily, claiming them to be nothing more than an office of sorts, a private, quiet area where he could do his work more effectively. In reality, it had served as both an office and a refuge. Her appetite for him seemed to be insatiable and mixed with her general obsession, he needed a room to lock himself away in from time to time. At first, Lady Lysa protested, claiming that they had spent far too much time apart already, years of it even. But as words mixed with gentle caresses and transformed into negotiations, Petyr won her over just as he always had. He had a talent for persuasion.  
  
    As he escorted Sansa down the long empty halls of the Eyrie and dropped a hand down to the small of her back, he guided her through the doorway gently. “After you, my lady.”  
  
    She stepped into the room and peered around at the sturdy desk sitting against the back wall, and the roaring fireplace placed across from it on the opposite side. A sofa sat comfortably by the warmth of the fire.  Between them, tucked neatly away behind a translucent veil of layered fabrics, was a featherbed. It wasn’t grand and it wasn’t of an elaborate design or with satin sheets, but it looked soft and warm and that was enough.  
  
    “Go sit by the fire, sweetling. You’ll make yourself ill if you stay in those wet clothes.” Petyr called to her as he finished securing the door. His eyes rolled over her carefully as he spoke, but to her surprise, he waited by the door until she began moving towards fire. She sat down on the small sofa in front of it and slipped off her gloves to warm her fingers. They seemed to chill the most, no doubt from digging around in the snow for so long. “Would you like a drink? A good wine always warms the blood better than most anything else.” He was standing by the desk, a rich red wine held in his left hand while a goblet dangled delicately in his right.  
  
    “Thank you. That’s very kind of you, Lord Baelish.” Sansa replied politely as she slipped her feet out of the cold shoes that had been squeezing a small bit of snow against the inside of her ankle.  
  
    “Petyr.” He corrected her, offering the familiarity of his given name over the stiff, formal feel of ‘Lord Baelish’.  
  
    Sansa smiled shyly and repeated, “Petyr.” It sounded sweet on her tongue and as he walked over to the sofa and handed her the wine, she saw him smile back at the sound of his name on her lips. She took a sip from the wine before placing it down by the side of the sofa. Since her time spent with the Lannisters, the thought of intoxication had made her stomach churn more so than the actual beverage itself. They all seemed to drink, in excess, and none for the better. Her little sip would suffice enough to be polite without having to down the entire goblet.  
  
    He took a sip from his and sat down next to her, his knee just barely brushing against her leg as he positioned himself to face her. “You asked me once, what it is that I wanted. Do you remember?”  
  
    “Yes,” Sansa swallowed down a soft gulp as she felt him lift his arm and drape it over the back of the sofa between them. It was a warm, opening gesture, but as he sat so close and stared so deliciously at her while she answered, it only reminded her of the kiss they had shared not long ago. She wanted to share it again with him but for the sake of her modesty, she refrained. “You said you wanted everything.”  
  
    This earned her another of his smiles. “I did, and I do, but what I want to know is what you want. You’ve said you want to go home, but there is no more home to return to. Surely a smart girl like you has already figured that out.” At his mention of Winterfell, Sansa’s eyes shifted down. Her face seemed suddenly strange, hardened like a stone wall. She had learned to control her emotions well while in Kings Landing, and now that she was far from it, the habit hadn’t left her. _‘A good skill to have,’_ Petyr thought silently. He took one last drink from his wine before placing it down and turning his attention back to Sansa. His hand found hers and as he gently drew her eyes back to his, he felt another warming smile creep over his lips. “Tell me what you want, Sansa. Tell me everything you could ever desire.”  
  
    For so long, it was all about what everyone else wanted. The Lannisters wanted to marry her off to a house of their choosing so that they could keep control over the North. Joffery had wanted her simply as a plaything, a thing for him to taunt and poke at when he was bored. Margery and the Tyrells wanted her as an ally, someone they could call on when the Lannisters weren’t enough. _And Petyr…_ Petyr had already told her what he wanted. Surely she played a roll in his desires. Her time at Kings Landing had taught her exactly that. Everyone wanted something and if they claimed they didn’t, they were nothing more than a liar. As for how big of a piece she would be in his plans, Sansa couldn’t say.  
  
    “I want Winterfell. I know that it’s gone but like you’ve said with the snow castle-- I want to rebuild it.” She paused to gauge his reaction. If she had been too foolish and dreamy in her desires so far, he showed no sign of it on his face. She continued. “I want to sit as Lady of Winterfell and rule the North. I want the Lannisters to pay for what they’ve done to my family. I want to find an honorable husband and take my place as Queen.” She ran through the list again in her head and searched for anything else she could add, but that was all. Winterfell, the Lannisters, and to be Queen in the North. Those were her deepest desires.  
  
    Petyr’s lips curled into a small grin as he breathed out a quiet chuckle. Sansa frowned. Perhaps her dreams were foolish after all. “What are you laughing at?” She insisted, suddenly regretting answering him at all.  
  
    He shook his head and answered innocently, “I meant no offensive, sweetling. I’m only surprised that finding true love hadn’t earned a place on your list.”  
  
    Sansa’s face hardened once more. At one time, she thought Joffery had been her true love. If that was true love, she wanted no part in it. She frowned and pushed every thought of Joffery out of her head. “It might have, years ago, but songs of knights and flowers don’t seem to make much sense anymore.”  
  
    He seemed amused by her response, as if she had finally gotten it right. His hand slipped beneath hers and rose it up between them slowly. Petyr placed a delicate kiss on its back before lowering it back down to her lap. “I believe we can help one another. What you want and what I want may not be so different. They can run parallel with each other, if we let them.” His thumb was brushing at the back of her hand, gently stroking small circles between her thumb and forefinger idly as he spoke. “Would you like me to help you get what you want, Sansa?”  
  
    Against his best expectations, Sansa hesitated. Her silence made him nervous. If the girl claimed she wanted everything she had said, but would turn down his help when he was so plainly offering it, perhaps he had read her wrong all along. Just as he was beginning to think of changing his approach, Sansa asked curiously, “You say that you’ll help me, but how am I supposed to help you?”  
  
    Petyr’s smile deepened as his mindless caresses on her hand came to a stop. “You underestimate yourself. The Queen in the North and Lady of Winterfell is a strong ally to have. I’d have to be blind not to see the value in that-- in you,” he corrected himself.  
  
    Her mouth narrowed and straightened into a line as his thumb’s gentle movements on her hand slowed to a stop. His words were saying ally, talking business and sorting out their arrangements neatly enough but his body had been speaking an entirely different tone, or perhaps she only assumed wrong. He was sitting so close that his leg seemed to be purposefully touching hers and his _eyes_ …Sansa loved looking at his eyes. They were filled with such fire, such lust and desire that it made her want to squirm in her seat just to calm the effects it was having on her. But then he would speak and he would say nothing of it, nothing of what his eyes were telling her. She frowned.  
  
    “Does my offer disappoint you, sweetling?” Petyr asked, withdrawing his hand completely.  
  
    “No,” Sansa answered politely, but it had become hard to fake the enthusiasm she was sure he expected her to have. “I just expected…” She let her words trail off as she realized the truth. “I don’t know what I expected. I’m sorry, Lord Baelish.”  
  
    As she rose from the sofa and collected her gloves from beside the fire, Petyr stood in response. He didn’t bother correcting her with his name again. She must have known it by now; she was using his formal one on purpose, to distance herself from him. He tried to slow her with an apology as she grabbed the rest of her things and began to move towards the door. “If I’ve offended you--”  
  
    “You’ve done nothing.” Sansa reassured him out of courtesy, though she couldn’t help the flicker of sarcasm that seemed to strike out on the last word. Her cheeks reddened as her mind tried to figure out where she had misread his signals. _‘He kissed me’_ , she thought in confusion. _‘And brought me here, to his private room,’_ Sansa felt foolish as she ran it over again in her head and still couldn’t figure out where the misunderstanding had taken place. All signs still pointed to something else, something less platonic in his intentions. Her eyes dropped to the doorknob as she silently remembered, _‘He even locked the door, so that there wouldn’t be any interruptions.’_  
  
    “Sansa,” Petyr stopped her just as she started reaching for the doorknob. His hand fell to her wrist as his other found the smooth curve of her waist. His eyes were ablaze as he held her in front of him. Those soft familiar circles she had felt earlier on the back of her hand had resurfaced on her hip, warmed by the heat of his touch through her long heavy gowns. His lips parted as he searched her face for the understanding and the confirmation that his words sought out. “Tell me what you _want_.”  
  
    She stepped forward, a lady grown and a child no more. At such close proximity, her height even surpassed him, though only by a couple hairs at best. She could feel the quickening of her pulse throbbing against her chest and she was sure if she tried to reply with words, no sound would come out. Putting all insecurities and uncertainties aside, Sansa pulled her hand away from the doorknob and brought it up to cup the side of his face seductively. Words simply wouldn’t do.  
  
    He could feel the soft, gentle trembles in her fingertips against his skin as she brought her lips to his. It was all he had been waiting for, hoping for. Her willingness and her arousal-- he craved it, and as his grip on her waist tightened and he pulled her against him, he knew he couldn’t leave her needs unfulfilled.  
  
    The tender featherlike touches of her hands drifted down his neck to his chest as he gathered her face in his hands and devoured her. She was sweet and it was enough to intoxicate him more than any wine could claim to do. He felt her fingers migrate upwards again, this time finding the mockingbird pendant hanging from the collar of his clothes. She rolled it loosely between her forefinger and thumb and it made him wonder if she had been foolish enough to fall for the harmless, innocent image it presented or if she truly wanted him despite his ruthless, self-serving reputation.  
  
    It didn’t matter. He would take her just the same. Careful not to sever their kiss, Petyr guided her backwards until she felt the door’s thick wooden surface against her shoulder blades. His mouth seemed more eager, hungry for her. Sansa gasped with a sigh of desire as the hint of mint tickled over her tongue and the whiskers of his pointed beard grazed roughly against her bottom lip.  
  
    As the fingers of his left hand found a peaked bud through her garments, his right hand passed over the second sensitive bud only briefly before continuing down the front of her gown wickedly. Her body seemed to twist and squirm, following the movements of his touch and begging for more, but his hand kept moving downwards. Over her ribs and down her stomach, circling over her hips and down her thigh until he finally paused. Without warning, Petyr lifted her leg out from under her and hooked it into the bend of his arm for support.  
  
    There was no way he could get her out of the confines of her dress, not with the tight fitting corset-like design that covered her midsection. The straps and hooks alone would take an hour to remove properly without the risk of tearing them. But the soft undergarments tucked safely beneath the long flowing gown’s length were easy enough to conquer. Petyr pulled at the train of fabric standing between them, diving his hand deeper beneath her skirts until he found what was finally her.  
  
    Sansa let out a hushed breath when his fingers pulled the fabric of her smallclothes aside. She felt so bare, so vulnerable, but it only made her crave him all the more. His mouth pulled away from hers and fell down to the tender skin of her neck. She smelled sweet, of lemons and flowers, though he couldn’t place whether it was the scent of her hair or her arousal that seemed to overwhelm him. He groaned his desires against the nape of her neck as his fingers ran up the length of her slit and found her delicate bundle of nerves tucked carefully between the moistened folds of her lady bits.  
  
    As he toyed with it beneath her gown and suckled at the tenderness of her neck, he could feel her leg tighten around him, winding around his back and opening herself up to him even further. Petyr taunted her, brushing skillfully over the swollen bud again and again until he felt her arms press down against his shoulders and her hands claw at his back in an effort to keep herself standing upright.  
  
    She could feel his hot breath on her neck as he let out a husky chuckle at her sensitive response. His lips dragged a stream of gentle kisses up her throat until they were back at eye level. Her hazy blues seemed suddenly alert, wanting and waiting to feel his touch deepen. Petyr smirked sinfully as he watched her expression change, her eyelids fluttering heavily and her pouty bottom lip just tempting him to taste her again. She was coming undone and by nothing more than his touch.  
  
    It drove him so close to the edge, to watch her and feel her in his hands, that he couldn’t stop his impure thoughts from pouring out. “Do you like that, sweetling? Does that feel good?” His mouth returned to her neck as his lips grazed greedily just below her earlobe. The trail that his fingers followed below her waist shifted and teased playfully at her opening. He hadn’t yet dipped inside but his fingers already felt wet with her moisture. He wouldn’t be able to control himself much longer if she kept mewling at him every time he came close to her womanly folds. “So wet already and we’ve only just begun.” His fingers withdrew, slippery as they brushed over the ginger curls of her mound. Sansa breathed out a disappointed moan, afraid he would stop altogether.  
  
    “Please,” Her request sounded strained, weakened and desperate as she felt the blush creep over her cheeks. A proper lady would never behave so scandalously.  
  
    Petyr was relishing it; the short little exhales that she let slip out every time his fingers danced over her skin, and the way she seemed to drown in his grey-green eyes as they bore into her and watched her unwind right in front of him. It was almost too much, too sweet to endure without gaining his own pleasures in return. “Would you like more, sweetling? Such a hungry little thing,” Petyr growled through husky whispers as his fingers returned to her dripping opening. Sansa let out a cry of relief as his fingers slipped in, nearly filling her completely with only the tips of two digits. He felt her pressing herself against them, trying to feel more of what they had to offer. Petyr closed his eyes and pressed his lips against her neck. He swore he could feel her pulse beneath his lips, she seemed so lustfully untamed, a side of her he had only wished he could one day witness. “So eager,” he cooed at her seductively. “So tempting…”  
  
    He was losing himself, losing his restraint as he pressed his hardness against her through his clothes. It made her moan and that only drew him to do it again, harder this time as his fingers pushed deeper inside her. She was tight, so tight that every time he twisted his hand to deepen the angle, Sansa bucked out against him with a needy drive. He closed his eyes tighter and willed himself not to soil her. If he meant to keep her intact for a future husband, he would need to keep his self-restrain with impeccable control.  
  
    Petyr let out a frustrated groan and gave her what she wanted. His fingers were coated in her slickness, sheathed up to the last knuckle between her trembling thighs. She was panting right beside his ear and as he chewed at the inside of his cheek to keep himself at bay, his hand worked her up to a state most unfit for a married lady. He urged her on as his thumb met with her aching clit. “Good girl, sweetling. Almost there, I know you can feel it.”  
  
    She was so close to the edge, he could feel her tightening around him, pulsing with every thrust of his fingers. If it weren’t for the fact that she never saw him undo the bindings of his trousers, he could have very well been using more than his fingers instead. She imagined he was. Imagined he was taking her, claiming her as his own and filling her completely. She wanted to feel the length of his manhood with every stroke and the possessive bite of his kiss as she rode him in excess. _‘It could work,’_ she thought greedily. _‘Who would know? Anyone set to examine her before her wedding day could be slipped a pouch of shiny, silencing coins easily enough. He’s a master of persuasion. Out of anyone, he could manage it…’_  
  
    Sansa leaned her weight back against the door and slipped her arms down off of his shoulders.  His eyes flashed open at the sudden movement between them. As his hand paused inside her, Sansa ground up against it in an effort to keep him moving. He did, though warily, his eyes never leaving hers. Her breathing was staggered and her legs were beginning to feel like rubber beneath her, but she continued to move her hands down between them until she felt the bindings of his trousers.  
  
    Petyr’s eyes flickered closed briefly as he swallowed down hard and warned her almost pleadingly, “Sansa.”  
  
    Her dainty fingers found their way beneath the fabric oh his trousers to the warmth of his flesh and sought out more. He was hard, harder than she thought a man could become. It was frightening, considering where exactly that particular body part was meant to go, but the thought sent a flutter through her stomach and down to her aching center. It would feel different from his fingers, surely, but whether it would feel better or worse, she didn’t. It felt larger, much larger than his fingers and although they had stilled inside her when she reached for his manhood, she could still feel their length and warmth invading her.  
  
    His brows creased harshly as he fought his body and mind with the last ounce of control he had left. It was too much, to feel her soft hand around him and her tightness warming his fingers. She was toying with him innocently, running her fingers and thumb down the shaft and then making her way back up to the tip, unsure of what felt good and what would make him go wild, but it was enough to make him doubt everything he had planned. With the last shred of self-control he could manage, Petyr drew his hand from her loins and grabbed her wrist, perhaps rougher than he had originally intended.  
  
    By the throaty sounds he had been making and the wetness on the head of his member, Sansa thought she had been doing it correctly, but as he stopped her so suddenly, she began to doubt whether he was enjoying any of it at all. He seemed out of breath slightly, still supporting the rest of her weight which the door had not, but when she began to stroke him, his strength had weakened, or perhaps simply shifted from his arms down to his manhood instead. From the state of it, he looked to be ready to explode, but his hand remained on her wrist just as firmly. His eyes opened, though they were clouded with lust and desire. “Just,” he began softly, willing himself to deny her for the sake of his future goals. He forced a smile and released her wrist, bringing his fingers back to her core to help revert her attention back to her own pleasure. “Let me focus on you, sweetling.”  
  
      
    Though his words were denying her, his fingers were not. On his re-entry he seemed to hit just the right spot to send her crawling her way up the door, bringing her arms back up to his shoulders for support as her legs began to buckle underneath her. Her moans and pleads beside his ear were like a song, a song he would have to remember and replay later when he could take himself in his own hand and bring on the release he was so cruelly denying himself now. She was growing so wet. His movements felt effortless as she brought herself down further on his fingers again and again, gaining her pleasure and drawing closer to her release with each sweet sigh and tender moan that she gave him.  
  
    It was heaven and as she clenched her eyes closed and felt her body finally begin its release, Petyr needed to taste her, needed to feel her pouty lips on his and swallow down her seductive cries as she unraveled in his hands. His mouth was on her, her lips, her jaw, her neck. Anywhere he could reach without withdrawing his fingers from her, he kissed feverishly. As he lifted his head up from her bosom and moved towards her earlobe, Sansa turned and caught his lips with hers instead. It was lustful and hungry, an entwinement heightened by the magnificent tingling that shuttered through her body and over her skin as the last of her climax rolled through her.  
  
    She was exhausted and if it weren’t for him still holding up one of her legs and pinning her against the door, Sansa knew she would have been in a heap on the floor long ago. As the final waves of her release came and went, their kiss began to wither and slow, splitting instead into a dozen smaller, sweeter pecks and nips between them. They pulled apart reluctantly; Petyr slowly removed his hand from between her thighs and lowered her leg back down onto the ground, though neither trusted her wobbly limbs to keep her upright without some extra effort. He kept her support on him as he stole another kiss with a devilish smile. His eyes were still filled with desire, his need hadn’t wavered in the least when hers had been met, but that was to be expected.  
  
    Sansa smiled back sweetly, admiring the way his eyes seemed to darken and shift to more of a grey in the harsh lightening of his private chambers. Or perhaps it was a reflection of his inner sinful thoughts. The lust behind them almost made her want to feel him again, if only she wasn’t so tired already. His eyes bore into her, keeping her sight trained on him in return. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught his hand and thought he meant to touch her again, but it lifted up past her skirts and continued rising until it stilled between them, still covered in the glistening remains of her pleasure. She blushed at just how much there seemed to be and wondered if he minded his hands becoming so soiled by her.  
  
    Before she could assume what he was about to do, he drew his fingers closer to his lips and took them into his mouth with a sensual hunger. His eyes never left her and as Sansa watched him, mesmerized and intrigued by his passion and the erotic movements of his lips around his digits, she felt a flutter of raw desire in the pit of her stomach. She stared wordlessly as his fingers withdrew slowly, cleansed of her essence, and dropped down to his side loosely. His boyish smile returned, flickering up to lighten the greens of his eyes. “I imagined you’d taste of lemons.”  
  
    Sansa breathed out an embarrassed laugh and asked shyly, “And do I?”  
  
    The corners of his mouth lifted again, higher this time as he shook his head and pulled her closer towards him, his hands on her hips. “No, lemons aren’t nearly sweet enough.”  
  



End file.
